


Almost

by HallowedNight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Hurt with very little comfort, M/M, Mental Instability, Sad, Sam tries to deal with death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:07:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3216923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallowedNight/pseuds/HallowedNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything, Sam was almost okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this is sad. 
> 
> Also, I was listening to Strobe by Deadmau5 while writing it, so that sort of goes with it.
> 
> Also also, it's a bit of an experimental style, so...tell me if it's weird?

Sam blinked slowly, purposefully crinkling the corners of his eyes. Though he had stopped crying…a while ago, the skin around his eyes was crusted over and itchy, but his arms didn’t seem to want to obey him; he settled for squinting in time with some deep breaths, intent on keeping his emotions under control.

Losing all those girls had been one thing. Jess had subsided to a dull throb near his spine, spiking only occasionally. The others…well, he couldn’t remember most of them. They hurt at the time, but he could deal with death.

Then Dad had died. Sam had gotten over than one relatively quickly. He’d be kidding himself if he said he had loved the man for any reason other than social necessity. The guy was a shit father.

Then the weird stuff started happening. Angels, demons, apocalypses; it had all gone so quickly, streaming by like film yanked off its roll too fast. It was uncomfortable and rushed, fundamentally _wrong_.

And then Bobby died, and everything slid to a screeching halt. They were sure Bobby wouldn’t die. He couldn’t, obviously. But he did. Sam didn’t think they ever really got over than one.

Castiel was next. Dean was distraught. Sam was numb, too busy dealing with the angel’s older brother haunting his head. They both mourned, but soldiered on. That’s what they were, after all: soldiers.

There was a lot of death after that. The boys hardened themselves to it, ready to deal with mortality whenever they took on a job or met with other hunters. They pulled away from the lifestyle, trying desperately to keep a buffer between themselves and the humans whose bodies failed far too easily. Sam was fairly convinced they would be the last two people on the planet eventually, probably sooner rather than later.

A cold breeze sent a shiver down Sam’s spine. He giggled anyway, the sound seeming to shift the metal beneath his back. He doubted the Impala was actually moving; he was probably just shaking. The night was cold, but the younger Winchester couldn’t bring himself to crawl off the hood of the car. He wasn’t comfortable, but the stars were pretty, and Lucifer was mercifully silent.

At least Dean wasn’t alive to see what Sam was now. He figured Dean would want him to do something about it: check into a mental ward or something. Sam didn’t want to though. He found that if he played along with Lucifer’s jibes, actually talked to the hallucination, he got more sleep. He gave up trying to live normally. Dean’s death broke him, and he knew it. He ate normally, didn’t drink and refused to whore himself out, but his mind had taken quite the toll. He figured that’s why Lucifer’s visits were becoming less and less frequent. His brain probably wasn't a nice place to live just then.

Every now and then, Sam would feel better. He’d almost call someone, almost start making a plan to get his brother back…but it all slipped away so quickly. His will was frozen solid, and attempts to melt away the ice just made it that much more slippery; no matter how hard he struggled to drag himself out of his mental trench, he would inevitably miss a handhold and slide deeper into melancholia. He gave up trying a few weeks ago. Living as a ghost with no chance of escape was easier when there was no light at the end of the tunnel, hellfire or not.

Sam spent most of his nights in abandoned fields, wrapped in blankets on the roof of the Impala, staring at the stars. They didn’t make him feel particularly better or worse: just less like he didn’t exist. Sometimes he imagined Heaven up there. He wondered if Dean was there, if he could be there with his older brother…but he didn’t deserve that. Sam hadn’t even attempted to help his brother. Dean was probably happier up there though, so at least Sam’s reluctance was somewhat justified.

This particular night, Sam had forgotten the blankets. He swore he’d get them eventually, just…not yet. He could imagine he wasn’t cold. It worked, for the most part.

“Sam?”

The human nodded, not trusting himself to talk. The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it; he vaguely thought he should be more alarmed, but feeling wasn’t coming easy to him at the moment.

“Look at me.”

Sam took a shaky breath and pushed himself into a sitting position, using both hands to steady himself and stave off the familiar rush of vertigo. A figure was perched on the hood of the Impala, its back turned.

“Gabriel?”

The angel nodded and glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t look so hot.” His voice was soft, too different from what Sam was used to.

“I’d ask if you were a hallucination, but I don’t think it makes much difference at this point.”

Gabriel snorted mirthlessly. “Well, at least you’re self-aware.”

“Are you gonna kill me, Gabe?”

“Not unless you want me to.” The angel stepped away from the hood and crossed his arms, his golden eyes glinting in the moonlight. “I can’t change what happened, but I can help.”

Sam crossed his legs and rested his head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. Hot tears began to fall; the human was far passed caring at this point. He considered them vindicated, warranted. “What can you do?”

“Take you away. I can’t promise you’ll be with Dean, but there’s a possibility. And you’re not helping anything down here.”

“I wanna…I don’t want to die. I can’t, not when…I just… _can’t_.”

“You don’t have to die, Sam. Well, you do, but you don’t have to be killed. I can take you. You _deserve_ peace.”

“I am at peace.”

“You’re not.”

Sam finally shifted, sliding gracelessly from the roof. “Dean would be furious about this.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Stop contradicting me.”

The angel’s lips quirked in a pained smile. “Let’s go, Sam.”


End file.
